


You Belong to Me

by the_guy_they_call_atlas



Category: BioShock Infinite
Genre: Closure, What-if Scenario, mentions of BAS, slight spoilers for BAS, spoilers for BioShock: Infinite
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-07-09 00:06:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19878325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_guy_they_call_atlas/pseuds/the_guy_they_call_atlas
Summary: There's no guarantee he even slightly remembers her. It's not possible. She had erased every version of that world, that person he had become, and he had gone off and lived his life with his real daughter. She has no right to do this. But she has to try.





	You Belong to Me

Elizabeth shifts uncomfortably in her seat, glaring at the radio sitting on the counter ledge of the receptionists area at the front of the office. It's playing, no, _blaring,_ some obscure (to her, at least) "rock" song that she's never heard and never wants to again. The lyrics are all out of order, they make no sense, and none of the different parts are even slightly related to each other. At one point, there had even been a semi-operatic solo, for God's sake. They call _this_ music? People in the sixties are so _weird._ She suspects, however, that this song isn't actually from this era—ever since she came here, and indeed other eras she'd been in, whenever she was around radios or the like they had a tendency to suddenly switch to music nobody had ever heard before, and certainly not any songs that the radio stations themselves were playing. She allows herself a few moments to wonder what decade this song crawled out of, but quickly gets bored and laments the apparent end of the world.

But that's not why she's here.

She looks to the receptionist again, the one who had told her to wait in the aptly named 'waiting area', and frowns. The woman is busy with her paperwork and making and taking calls, not at all concerned with Elizabeth herself or the half-a-dozen or so people waiting to either get in or be allowed to see their loved ones. She herself is visiting someone, though whether that someone is a treasured loved one remains to be seen. She's been waiting out here for what seems like forever, and she's usually a patient woman, but this is ridiculous. She glares at the radio again as the music of what seems like the same song switches again, this time the singer waxing poetic about how 'nothing really matters' to him. She rolls her eyes, and goes back to ignoring the radio. She's thankful when after that, the radio announcer announces the end of that particular song, which is definitely not what they all had just heard, and tells whoever might be listening that they're going on a commercial break. Thank God, she doesn't think she can handle another song like that. She hopes it doesn't happen again while she's here.

She looks to the receptionist once again, but she hasn't changed her position. She sighs, opting to look again at the other patients around her. There's a mother, with her child, and she's quietly scolding him for something he's done. She's not sure what, they're doing a good job of keeping their voices relatively low, but both of their faces are drawn and defiant.

She moves on, looking at a man sitting a few chairs away from herself, looking none too happy to be here. His sandy brown hair is tussled, no doubt from the countless times he had run his hand through his hair and sighed deeply. If she had to caution a guess, he was here to see a loved one. He rubs his wrists nervously, nothing new there. Out of all the people here, he's the one that fascinates her the most, if only because of his highly unusual behavior and his nervous glances around him. She thinks she sees a chain tattoo on one of his wrists at one point, when he rides the material of his sweater up too high, but he quickly realizes his mistake and hastily pulls it down.

She moves on to the next people, a highly energetic teenager who can't seem to sit still and his stern guardian who looks, like the man in the sweater, none too happy to be here, and less than pleased with his...child's? unruly behavior. It's not quite so unruly as impatient, she supposes, which she can understand.

She makes up her mind to go to the receptionist again to ask if she can see her 'loved one' again, hoping that she won't have to use extreme measures to be allowed to do so. She had meant to simply open a Tear into the hospital room, make her visit, and leave, and no one would have been the wiser. Unfortunately, it had not been quite that simple, as when she had tried to implement this plan none of the workers would leave the hospital room long enough for her to make her move. So, she had resolved to come in the old-fashioned way, intending to make up some BS story about being a relative of some kind, but it had turned out she didn't need to. The receptionist had taken one look at her, smiled as if she knew her, and told her to "take a seat, Ella". She has no idea who this 'Ella' is, but if she has a passing resemblance to her, she'll gladly impersonate and hopefully, no one will be the wiser.

However, before she can actually stand up and go to talk, the receptionist herself—Eloise, if she recalls her name tag correctly—calls out her name. Well, her fake one, anyways.

"Emma!" she calls out, and it takes several seconds of nobody answering for her to realize that she'd been calling her, but had misremembered her name.

"It's, ah, Ella," she corrects, standing up.

"Oh?" The receptionist starts, looking back down at her mess of papers coating every inch of her desk. Seriously, this woman needs some sort of filing cabinet or a box of office supplies. There is no way this is professional behavior. With omnipotence, however, comes the knowledge of the known universes, and she takes the few seconds it takes the woman to do whatever it is she's doing and research her history, out of pure boredom. Ahhh, apparently she's the owner's niece, and though indeed her workplace etiquette is less than professional, nobody dares to fire her for fear of repercussions. She's startled out of her musings by the receptionist's exclamation of confusion. "I thought your name was Anna?"

"It is," Elizabeth replies, going along with it. "My name is Anna, but you never seem to remember it, Eloise. The memory pills aren't working?"

"No," Eloise sighs, defeated. "I try and I try, but I can never seem to do anything about it. Earl says maybe I ought to try that new drug that's out, but I don't trust it."

Elizabeth nods sympathetically like she cares, and soon enough, after she's interrupted Eloise's beginning rant about the pharmaceutical industry these days, she's headed inside, being led to his room by another worker, who smiles at her in that fake sympathetic way that people often do when they don't know what to say. She nods curtly at him, and after he's opened the door and pushed it aside, he mentions, "He's been looking forward to this all week, ever since you last came. He doesn't talk much these days anymore, as you know, but when he does, he talks about you. He even told us you'd be bringing a friend along. I don't see him though."

Elizabeth shrugs, stepping inside the room and pushing the door closed a little in his face. She doesn't care much about being rude, she's waited for this moment for far too long and he's never going to see her again after this, so what does it matter? "He couldn't make it," she lies easily, giving him a pointed look when he just stands in the doorway. After a tense moment, he seems to understand, and closes the door.

"I'll be back in about an hour," he tells her before the door shuts.

_An hour. I can do that. It'll only take about half that, and even less so if he doesn't remember me. Either way, I aim to be well shut of this place before that long._

She turns to the bed, and looks with a heavy and shaking heart at the person sitting upright in it. His face is turned away from her, staring down at something he's reading and seemingly engrossed in, and maybe that's for the best. Maybe just seeing him is enough, maybe this is all the closure she needs. He doesn't need to know she was ever here, the _real_ Anna will come along soon enough and give him company. She doesn't need to be here, but she's come this far, hasn't she? Seeing him through the Tears wasn't enough, she had to see for herself. Well, she's seen, and he seems to be alright, so she should really go now.

She takes a step forward, her heels clacking loudly against the tiled floor and echoing around the sparsely decorated room and catching the attention of the man sitting in the bed. He looks up, startled, and the look that he gives her is one she is all too familiar with.

Booker.

The one person she'd felt the most guilt over, the one who had saved her from that horrible place and who gave her the chance to be standing here right now, her own person with her own mind, no longer anyone's pawn. The only person she had ever cared about and even maybe loved, who she'd killed in the river what seems like an eternity ago, knowing she'd never see him again.

But here he is. And he's looking at her, like...like…

"Do I know you?"

Like nothing. He doesn't know her, she shouldn't be here. She's just furthering her own heartbreak by standing here and not getting the hell out when she had the chance. But she's a Dewitt, at least she used to be, so, so long ago. They're all masochists, and even if she's not one by name anymore, the same blood runs in her veins, and she craves the same. She swallows, gathering up the courage to look in his eyes. They've still got that defiant fire burning behind them—though his body is weak and frail unlike the Booker she'd known so long ago, she's confident that the same strength runs underneath his surface.

"Hello," she starts, because what else can she say? "My name is Elizabeth. You don't know me, but...uh…" What is she supposed to say here? She had had a plan, hadn't she, if he didn't remember? Where is that plan now? "I used to know you," she tries, and decides it's good enough. It's the truth, isn't it, and as close to the whole story as she can get. She doesn't want to reveal anything more than that if he truly has no clue who she is. "I used to know you, and we were good friends, but then you left, and I guess you've forgotten me. Maybe it's the old age, or maybe I just wasn't that important to you, but in any case you've clearly forgotten me, and I've just come back to say my goodbyes. Well, I've just said them, and so I should be going now—really, I'm sorry to bother you—" She's rambling, she knows, and she's making no sense and she's running her words together and she's making herself sound crazy, she should really just open a Tear and leave now—yes, yes, that could work—

"I know you," he says suddenly, and something in his voice makes her stop and look at him. "Yeah, I know you. I don't know where from, though." He takes a long, hard look at her, scrutinizing what seems like her every pore and Elizabeth's heart pounds at the inspection, praying that he doesn't suddenly throw her out and scream for security, because there is _no way_ he remembers her. "You...do you mind staying a bit longer and refreshing my memory?" he asks after several moments, almost sheepishly. "I'm sorry I've forgotten you, but maybe you could just tell me how we know one another."

"I…" Can she do that? No, she really can't. She can't tell him everything, there's not enough time. Besides, there is no guarantee that anything she says would be taken seriously—he might just decide to throw her out and declare her off her rocker. "I can try. It's quite the story, actually."

She quickly makes up a condensed, fictionalized story about how they met and what they'd been through, omitting the real details but leaving people and certain events in, though the events were altered from the truth. She tries at first to make it seem normal and believable, but as she gets into it, she can't hold herself back and though she's keeping the fictionalized version alive, she's adding far more grandeur and actual events into it than strictly needs be. Just when she's about to finish, she notices Booker's face—worn and gruff, as she remembers, but also old and tired, like she wish she knew. But there's something else, there now, too, something that makes Elizabeth's heart skip several beats—familiarity.

She finishes, but at the very end she peters off, intent on the look on his face as it shifts from listening to her words to mulling them over. He doesn't speak for a very long time, and Elizabeth is sure that that worker is going to come back any minute to check on them and he's going to call foul on her. She makes up her mind then to open a Tear out of here, his memory be damned—most everyone he tells will write it off as an illusion, a trick of the light, or just the deluded ramblings of the old. She stands up from where she had sat down on the edge of his bed, and turns towards the window—she can see the shimmer of a Tear even now, not in this plane yet and so visible to only her eyes. She crosses over to the window, intent of making her move, but his voice stops her.

"If you're thinking about opening a Tear out of here, I may have to alert the hospital staff as to why the mysterious woman they let in here has suddenly disappeared."

Elizabeth scoffs defensively, folding her arms across her chest and thinking up an excuse or deflection to counteract that, when it dawns on her exactly what he'd said. "A Tear?"

"Do you...call them something else nowadays?"

There's no guarantee he even slightly remembers her. It's not possible. She had erased ever version of that world, that person he had become, and he had gone off and lived his life with his real daughter. It's not possible. It's not.

And yet…

She turns back to the bed, arms still crossed defensively over her chest, and she stares hard at the man sitting not more than three feet away. He smiles at her, small and trying to be gentle, but Booker DeWitt was almost never gentle. Is. He's still here, he's alive, and he...remembers her?

"You remember? Don't tell me that bullshit story reawakened your memories."

"No, but as far as fake stories about things that actually happened, I will say it was a pretty good one. Had me fooled until something in my mind clicked, and I suddenly remembered who you were. Are."

Elizabeth can feel the tears threatening to break free, and the lump in her throat, and her wobbly knees—a million other things become suddenly obvious all at once, threatening to overwhelm her, but damnit, she'd worked too hard for this moment, and she is not going to let it slip from her fingers. She takes several seconds to calm herself, swallowing back the tears that are already spilling over her cheeks, and nods at Booker. "Booker," she whispers, because that's all she can manage right now.

Booker holds out a hand to her, pale and frail, and she distantly notes that it's his right hand. She takes it gratefully, turning it over and smiling when she doesn't see the infamous A.D. on the back. She traces the place where it would have been with a finger. "It would seem the mark of the False Shepherd is no more."

"There was no reason to," he explains, drawing her back to sit on his bed. "After...after you…"

"Killed you," she finishes, and she hates how weak she sounds, but he doesn't seem to mind.

"Yeah. After that, I woke up in my office in New York, but it was nineteen years prior to when I left. You were still there, in your crib, crying for me to pick you up. Your pinky was still there, and so were my memories. I remembered it all, Elizabeth—I remembered you, a-and Columbia, and Comstock, and everything else. I was so worried about you...I didn't know what happened to you, and I had no way of finding out so I had to assume you'd disappeared like the rest of them."

"Well...I didn't."

There's not much else to say, and yet, Elizabeth what's to say so much more. She wants to tell him how much she's missed him, how much it hurt when she had to do _that_ to him, and how good it is to see him again. She wants to tell him what she's been up to these past couple of—days? Weeks? Years? She doesn't know—thanks to her newfound omnipotence, time has no meaning to her anymore.

"I've...been well, I suppose," Booker starts after a while, awkwardly trying to initiate a conversation. "I remembered Columbia, for _years_ afterwards...she didn't, though. She never remembered, which I'm honestly grateful for. I never forgot completely, but eventually for me, the memories just faded into dreams or distant memories that I sometimes remembered. Now, though...now it's all coming back to me…"

Elizabeth nods, smiling through her sorrow. "That's...something, I suppose. Not necessarily good, but I'm glad you still remember me. How...how is she?"

"She's...you're...great. She's actually doing great. She's not quite as young as you seem to mysteriously be, she's nearing her 67th birthday in about a month, but she visits me every week. I tried my best, after I came back, to be the best father I could, and the man I knew I never was—I finally got off my ass and out myself out there, working day and night to support her, and I guess I did a good enough job, because we still keep steady contact and she doesn't hate me, so. Anyways, I paid off my debts, I got more clients, and my detective business finally took off. Nothing too big or serious, but I used to get a steady flow of clients until I had to shut down thanks to my health." At this, he begins a coughing fit, his whole chest heaving with the effort. Elizabeth holds a hand to his chest to steady him, and once the fit passes he places a hand over hers and smiles. "Thank you."

"Tell me more about her," Elizabeth urges, and he obliges with a nod.

"I eventually saved up enough money to send her to school, and then a good college—she's a brilliant girl, and I am so proud of her. Of you. She got a degree in...something, I'm not exactly sure. I can't remember. But she got a degree, got married…" he trails off, looking out the window wistfully as he reminisces about the past, and Elizabeth doesn't want to interrupt, but…

"Kids?"

"No, no children. Wanted them, but never really wanted to settle down and raise a family. She and her husband travel whenever they can—their favorite spot to go is Rome, actually. But...I—I did take her to Paris. Just like you wanted. After the first time, we made it a point to go at least once every year. She never goes without me, or at least so she tells me. She loves it there but can't bear to go alone. I keep telling here, I won't be here forever, might as well get used to it—but she won't listen. She's a stubborn one, Anna." He stops, looking at Elizabeth with the fondest eyes and a smile more gentle than she'd ever seen, least of all on him. She holds back a sob. "But I guess she got that from you."

"I guess she did," she agrees after a moment, because she doesn't know what else to say. Thankfully, just like the old days, Booker is there for her, and he squeezes her hand in his.

"What about you, Elizabeth? What have you been up to all these years?"

She tells him—and this time, she holds nothing back. She tells him how after she got rid of all the Comstocks by drowning him, she went to see the world, just like she'd wanted—any time, any place. She tells him about Greece, Italy, Spain, London, France (but not Paris—she couldn't bear going to Paris without Booker, even though she knew he'd never go with her). She tells him all the universes, all the cities and countries and cultures she'd experienced, and about how alone she'd felt during it all. Loneliness, it seems, is the price for omnipotence. She assures him she doesn't mind too much, though, as it's a price she would gladly pay a thousand times over. It's not a lie, but she's pretending it doesn't affect her as much as it truly does. Throughout all of this, Booker listens intently, offering his two cents whenever Elizabeth asks for it, and she finally does tell him how much she's missed him and how good it feels to see him again. He agrees, and the two finally sit in silence, content at last in each other's company.

"You know, I really have missed you," she says eventually. "I felt so alone, at first. I—I still do, obviously, but I'd never felt so helpless and lonely as I did when you left for good. I knew you were off somewhere, living your life with her, and I didn't want to interrupt that, so I stayed away. I...I checked up on you guys, through the Tears, sometimes. It was...nice. I didn't make it a habit, though, I promise."

"Why didn't you ever visit?"

"I...was...afraid," she admits, looking away and out the window, away from the question. It's not a pretty day outside—it's raining, the drops of water hitting the pavement outside in a continuous and brutal onslaught, forming puddles in ditches and leading rivulets of rainwater to the storm drains. Even with the nasty weather, she can see children playing outside, dressed in their colorful raincoats and holding patterned umbrellas. She focuses on one child in particular, sporting a ladybug patterned raincoat as she kneels down on the side of the sidewalk and pushes a boat into the river. She watches the child's boat almost float into the storm drain, the girl catching it just in time, only to repeat the process. She finally turns back to Booker, at least halfway, and continues, appreciating the silence. "I was afraid that you wouldn't remember me, or, if you did, that I would be...interrupting, I guess? You had your old life back, but you also had the chance to do it over. Do it _better_ than before. With her, with you daughter, Anna. I didn't want to...if you didn't remember, it would have all been a mistake. I would have apologized, maybe said something about the wrong apartment, and left. But if you did remember. If you knew who I was—" She takes a long, deep breath. "I don't know."

Booker lays a hand on hers, his smile and expression softer than she'd ever seen, but there is a touch of sadness in that face, too. "Elizabeth... _you're_ my daughter, too."

"But I'm not—I'm _not_ Anna. I can't...I'm not supposed to exist. I destroyed every version of every world where Columbia existed, where I lost a finger and gained my cosmic abilities. I'm the only one left. Every version of me that existed has merged into one. Tell me, what would you have done, if I'd come back sooner? If I'd showed up at your doorstep, out of the blue one day, and you'd remembered me? I think we both know."

"I never would have let you leave," Booker says, squeezing her hand tightly, firmly. "If you'd shown up way back then, I'd have taken you in. We'd have found a place for you. You would have been part of the family."

Elizabeth smiles, allowing the thought to wash over her, even though she knows it's impractical—her, an actual DeWitt, apart of an actual family. She can't imagine what that would be like, but the concept is wonderful. But it was never meant to be, not for her. She has other plans for her future. She shakes her head, turning towards him sadly. "Booker...I wish I could have. I would have loved to be part of a real family, with a real life and a real home. But...I can't. Not now. Maybe, when what I have to do is over, I can..be a part of your life. I can go back, and rewrite this. Add myself to the equation? But I have something very important I need to do first."

"And what is that?"

"There's one last Comstock, one that escaped the baptism. He...his universe is a paradox. One last Columbia, but he isn't there. He's in a different city, with a different lighthouse. In his world, you almost got away with Anna after you sold her, but Comstock ordered the Tear shut when he saw he was losing. The Tear...Booker, it closed around her head, not her pinky. She's dead, and he killed her. He escaped to a different universe to escape his guilt, erasing his memories in the process. I have to—I've _got_ to teach him a lesson, Booker. I can't let him get away with this. I told you, when the universes collapsed, when they ceased to exist, all of the Elizabeths merged into one—into me. I felt... _everything_ that _every version_ of me felt. All of that knowledge, it…I lost a pinky, but that version of me, she lost _everything._ And Comstock...that _final_ Comstock, he thought he could escape his guilt, by leaving Columbia and going somewhere where nobody would think to look." She stops herself before she actually starts yelling, the fury and and takes a few deep breaths, calming herself and dispelling the anger and resentment that had overtaken her. The bitter, burning fury in her heart eventually subsides, making way for sorrow and regret at not being able to do something about it. She had tried...she had tried to change things. She had thought she could make a difference, and she hadn't done anything at all.

"I tried to stop him, before he did it. But it didn't work. She's still—she's still dead, Booker, and I couldn't save her. I didn't even make a slight difference. But maybe...maybe I can avenge her. It won't take long. I mean, it will take long, for me. It'll be about six month's time. But I'll come back when I'm done. I'll come back to you, Booker, and maybe...maybe we can be together again."

Booker nods, smiling at the notion—it's really quite a thought, and one he thoroughly enjoys, if he's being completely honest. He'd missed her, even though he'd technically had her all this time. Anna is everything that Elizabeth once was, but is no longer—sweet, innocent, and pure. She has no knowledge of the universe or lockpicking or codebreaking, and she cannot open Tears and knows nothing about the lonely solitude that accompanies being trapped and lied to your entire life. But she is still Elizabeth, in some very important aspects, though everything else is Anna DeWitt—and he loves his daughter very much, not in spite of but because. There isn't anything he wouldn't do for her.

The same, however, can be said of his _other_ daughter—rather, an alternate version of the same daughter. If Elizabeth can somehow make it so that they're together again, all three of them...well, he doesn't doubt it. He's not entirely sure what'll happen to his own future, right here and now, but he suspects it won't change much. But he has a sneaking, sorrowful suspicions that what she's promising will never come to pass. "Elizabeth...are you _sure_ this is what you want?" he asks hesitantly, and the irony of those being her exact last words to him, all those years ago, is not lost on him.

"I have to. It's the only way to make it right. He has to know...he has to know he _deserves_ it. He has to remember what he's done and—and he...he has a debt that needs repaying. That's the only way I can explain it."

"I understand, Elizabeth. I just...I just hope you know what you're doing. I don't want you getting hurt by doing this. I may not be an omnipotent paradox with ultra-cosmic abilities, but I do know that you may be getting yourself into a situation you might not be able to get out of. I know you're smart, and you're resourceful, and I trust you to be able to take care of yourself. But…" she sighs, the wrinkles on his old face becoming more prominent as he frowns deeply. An expression of worry and confusion crosses his face. "I don't know. I got a premonition about it. Just—just promise me you'll be careful?"

"I promise, _Dad,_ " Elizabeth chuckles, and Booker returns the gesture, before things become serious again. "I'm sorry that I have to do this at all. This Comstock...he shouldn't exist. He's a paradox. I suppose at least one of every person needs to exist in at least one universe, though. Nobody can never exist. It's a strange concept, one I'm not entirely sure I've fully grasped myself, but. I will," she interrupts herself abruptly, changing the subject. "I'll be careful. I'll do what needs to be done, and then—I'll come back. I'll come to see you and Anna again, and maybe we can be together." She knows it's foolhardy, possibly even dangerous to the state of this universe and his and Anna's future, but she doesn't entirely care. After all of the trauma and heartache she's been through, doesn't she deserve a happy ending too? She takes a few moments to explore the possibility of this new future she's just envisioned for herself. If she stays behind, if she goes back to 1893 or sometime after, before Anna grows up...then she can be a part of it. Yes, some things will change, but not too drastically, and besides, a few altercations won't matter in the long run for anybody. She, at least, is satisfied.

Booker appears to be satisfied too, his withered hand squeezing hers again. "I hope we can. I've...missed you, after all these years. I figured I'd never see you again, that you didn't exist anymore, and yet...here you are. Come to see your old man."

"After all this time."

"After all this time," he repeats, and then promptly devolves into another coughing fit, which Elizabeth gently helps him through. He sits up straighter in his bed, looking at her with old eyes. He looks so different from the Booker she knew—but inside, he's still the same man who rescued her from her tower. The same man who had given her a new chance at life—to love, to learn, to live. She'd never quite managed the time for that first one, but maybe, after all of this is over...maybe she will.

"Booker...I have to go. I'm sorry. I'll see you again, I promise—we'll be together, you and Anna and I. After all this is over, I'll come home. I promise."

"Pinky promise?" he asks with a cheeky grin, and Elizabeth playfully slaps him on the arm, but not too hard, as the smile is mirrored on her own face. "I'm kidding. But I'm also serious. I'm holding you to that promise, so don't disappoint me."

"I won't." Elizabeth leans over, pressing a gentle kiss to her father's forehead, before her broad grin gradually lessens to a gentle smile, and she and him share a moment of complete understanding before she steps away from the bed. "Goodbye, Booker. Thank you...thank you for everything. I won't forget you."

"Goodbye, Elizabeth. Good luck, and...I'll see you soon."

Elizabeth allows her small smile to grow for a second, nodding once before the single light in the hospital room starts to flicker without warning. The sporadic shadows and flashes of light cast Elizabeth's frame in an ominous glow, making her seem otherworldly—which, Booker supposes she is. It flickers gently at first, blinking a couple of times before quickly speeding up the process, until the actual bulb starts to shower sparks down into the room. A bright flash of light and a burst light bulb later, and Elizabeth is nowhere to be seen. She's gone, leaving this world, this time, and this universe behind.

Unbeknownst to either of them, however, she will never return.


End file.
